My kindest, best respects I sen' it,
To cousin Kate and sister Janet ;

Tell them, frae me, wi' chiels be cautious,
For, faith, they'll aiblins1 fin' them fashious;2
To grant a heart is fairly civil,

But to grant a maidenhead's the devil.
And lastly, Jamie, for yoursel,
May guardian angels tak a spell,
And steer you seven miles south o' hell:
But first, before you see heaven's glory,
May ye get mony a merry story,
Mony a laugh, and mony a drink,
And aye eneugh o' needfu' clink.

Now fare ye weel, and joy be wi' you;
For my sake this I beg it o' you,
Assist poor Simson a' ye can,
Ye'll find him just an honest man :
Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter,
Yours, saint or sinner,

ROB THE RANTER.

EPISTLE TO DR. BLACKLOCK,

IN ANSWER TO A LETTER.

It was the receipt of a letter from Dr. Blacklock to Mr. George Lawrie of Kilmarnock, which led Burns to abandon the idea of emigrating to the West Indies. Dr. Blacklock was educated for the Church, but becoming afflicted with blindness, he was unable to follow the profession he had chosen.

He kept a boarding-school for young men attending college, acting as a sort of tutor to them. His immediate appreciation was not the only instance of his discernment and kindness. Professor Walker says, "If the young men were enumerated whom he drew from obscurity, and enabled, by education, to advance themselves in life, the catalogue would naturally excite surprise."

ELLISLAND, October 21, 1789.

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie !4
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie ?5
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie

Wad bring you to:

* "Heron, author of a History of Scotland published in 1800; and, among various other works, of a respectable life of our poet himself."-Currie.

And tired o' sauls to waste his lear on,
E'en tried the body.

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier,3
I'm turn'd a gauger - Peace be here !
Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear,

5

Ye'll now disdain me!

And then my fifty pounds a year
Will little gain me.

Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies,
Wha, by Castalia's wimplin' streamies,
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies,
Ye ken, ye ken,

That strang Necessity supreme is
’Mang sons o men.

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies,
They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies;?
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is
I needna vaunt,

But I'll sned besoms8-thraw saugh woodies,
Before they want.

Lord, help me through this world o' care!
I'm weary sick o't late and air;

Not but I hae a richer share

Than mony ithers;

But why should ae man better fare,
And a' men brithers?

Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van,
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man !*
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan
A lady fair:

Wha does the utmost that he can,

Will whiles 10 do mair.

.!.

But to conclude my silly rhyme,
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,)
To make a happy fire-side clime

To weans and wife
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.

My compliments to sister Beckie ;
And eke the same to honest Lucky,
I wat she is a dainty chuckie,*

As e'er tread clay!

;

And gratefully, my guid auld cockie,+
I'm yours for aye.

ROBERT BURNS.

SECOND EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. OF FINTRY,

ON THE CLOse of the disputed elECTION BETWEEN SIR JAMES JOHNSTON
AND CAPTAIN MILLER, FOR THE DUMFRIES DISTRICT OF BOROUGHS.

FINTRY, my stay in worldly strife,
Friend o' my Muse, friend o' my life,
Are ye as idle 's I am?

Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg,1
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg,

And ye shall see me try him.

I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig‡ bears,
Wha left the all-important cares

Of princes and their darlin's ;
And, bent on winning borough touns,
Came shaking hands wi' wabster louns,
And kissing barefit carlins.2

Combustion through our boroughs rode,
Whistling his roaring pack abroad,
Of mad, unmuzzled lions;

As Queensberry "buff and blue" unfurl'd,
And Westerha'§ and Hopetoun hurl'd
To every Whig defiance.

But cautious Queensberry left the war,
The unmanner'd dust might soil his star;

1 Country kick.

2 Barefooted women.

* Chuckie-literally, hen. Used as a term of endearment in speaking of a

woman.

+ Cockie-literally, cock. Used in the same sense as chuckie.

The fourth Duke of Queensberry, of infamous memory.

§ Sir James Johnston, the Tory candidate.

Besides, he hated bleeding:

But left behind him heroes bright,
Heroes in Cæsarean fight,

Or Ciceronian pleading.

Oh, for a throat like huge Mons-Meg,
To muster o'er each ardent Whig
Beneath Drumlanrig's banners;

Heroes and heroines commix,

All in the field of politics,

To win immortal honours.

M'Murdo and his lovely spouse
(Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows!)
Led on the Loves and Graces:
She won each gaping burgess' heart,
While he, all-conquering, play'd his part
Amang their wives and lasses.

Craigdarroch + led a light-arm'd corps;
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour,
Like Hecla streaming thunder:
Glenriddel, skill'd in rusty coins,
Blew up each Tory's dark designs,
And bared the treason under.

In either wing two champions fought,
Redoubted Staig, § who set at nought
The wildest savage Tory:

And Welsh, || who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground,
High-waved his magnum-bonum round
With Cyclopean fury.

Miller brought up the artillery ranks,
The many-pounders of the Banks,
Resistless desolation!

While Maxwelton, that baron bold,
Mid Lawson's ¶ port entrench'd his hoid,
And threaten'd worse damnation.

To these, what Tory hosts opposed;
With these, what Tory warriors closed,
Surpasses my discriving:

Squadrons extended long and large,
With furious speed rush'd to the charge,
Like raging devils driving.

*The Chamberlain of the Duke of Queensberry at Drumlanrig, a friend of

the poet's.

+ Ferguson of Craigdarroch

Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, also a friend of the poet's.

§ Provost Staig of Dumfries.

Sheriff Welsh.

A wine merchant in Dumfries.

What verse can sing, what prose narrate,
The butcher deeds of bloody Fate

Amid this mighty tulzie !1

Grim Horror grinn'd-pale Terror roar'd,
As Murther at his thrapple shored, 2

And Hell mix'd in the brulzie !3

As Highland crags by thunder cleft,
When lightnings fire the stormy lift,
Hurl down wi' crashing rattle:
As flames amang a hundred woods;
As headlong foam a hundred floods;
Such is the rage of battle!

The stubborn Tories dare to die;
As soon the rooted oaks would fly

Before th' approaching fellers:
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar,
When all his wintry billows pour

Against the Buchan Bullers.*

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night,
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight,

And think on former daring:

The muffled murtherer of Charlest

The Magna-Charta flag unfurls,

All deadly gules its bearing.

Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame,

Bold Scrimgeour + follows gallant Grahame, §
Auld Covenanters shiver.

(Forgive, forgive, much-wrong'd Montrose!
While death and hell ingulf thy foes,
Thou liv'st on high for ever!)

Still o'er the field the combat burns,

The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns;
But Fate the word has spoken;
For woman's wit and strength o' man,
Alas! can do but what they can-
The Tory ranks are broken!

1 Conflict.

2 Threatened.

3 Broil.

4 Firmament.

*The Bullers of Buchan.-The name given to a huge recess in the rocks of the Aberdeenshire coast near Peterhead, which being open at the top, the

sight of the waters raging in it is grand in the extreme,

The executioner of Charles I. was masked.

John Earl of Dundee.

§ The great Marquis of Montrose.